


blasphemous rumours

by zappactionsdower



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angels and Demons, Gen, Good Omens AU, M/M, and other assorted supernatural entities, it's the end of the world as we know it and i feel pretty good right now
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:00:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27923422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zappactionsdower/pseuds/zappactionsdower
Summary: “Why does it have to end?”Dimitri raised an eyebrow.  “We can’t interfere with the child.”  The AntiSothis, after all, could destroy both angels and demons with a wave of their tiny infant hand.Felix shrugged.  “I’m not saying we hurt him.  After all, whatever we do is inevitably fate, don’t you think?”“So if the child, perhaps, went home with another family, that is, after all, the Will of Sothis.”  Dimitri continued.It was a terribly unangelic thing to say.  Felix would have been impressed had he not still been fixated on the cardigan issue.“And then we let fate take its course.”
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Hilda Valentine Goneril & Claude von Riegan
Comments: 6
Kudos: 23





	1. rain and pies

The Goddess was a cruel and horrible being. There was no other explanation for why water fell from the sky, or that electricity would crack downwards. Clearly Sothis was a madwoman that deserved no quarter.

Or at least that was what Felix told himself, over and over again as the rain hissed against his furred skin. In this form it was particularly unpleasant and his tail lashed over and over again. That was another knock against his maker - that she’d thought it _humorous_ for him to be small and four-legged and apparently allergic to water whether below or above.

He jerked as he saw something white and - horrendously fluffy - stand above him. The rain still poured downwards, but he was momentarily shielded from its impact.

“You don’t have to do this, you know.” Felix groused. He had _pride_.

“I’m sorry. You did seem to be having some discomfort.”

His companion née complete stranger had the nerve to look _majestic_. At least Felix assumed so - all he could see was a fluffy white underbelly and a thick mane leading upwards. Behind him, the creature’s tail twitched back and forth, far less impressive than Felix’s as far as Felix was concerned.

“You know what I am, don’t you?” Felix took the moment to fluff some of the rain off his form. It had its uses, of course, but he much preferred his usual state where he had three rows of teeth and six wings and burning swords.

He very much liked the burning swords.

“I did not think it mattered. At least not here.” Here, where there was nothing any longer to guard and nothing interesting to see besides emptiness and the onslaught of more rain.

“It always matters.” Felix countered. “For the next time.”

His companion moved, arranging his huge body so he was sitting down. Somehow, his form still protected Felix from the rain. Felix chose not to express his irritation on the whole matter.

“Do you think they’ll be all right?”

“They’re in the wood. They’ll be fine.” No thanks to the Goddess and her stupid _rain_.

“Still. I wish there was more we could do to help them.”

Felix scoffed. Only an angel would be all _concerned_ about humanity. As far as Felix was concerned, they were squishy and terribly-designed. They could only hold two swords at once.

“If I may - “ his companion’s tail twitched again. “Why did you fall?”

“I didn’t.” Falling made it sound like he’d tripped into his current state. Felix had been all too willing to dive into the new and unfamiliar existence the same way Felix challenged everything. “I went after the sword.”

“Ah. Oh. The you are - “

Felix twitched. “It’s _Felix_. If you use that name, I’ll bite you.”

“I see.” His companion chuckled and Felix considered scratching him. Even in this form, it was likely to scar for a few centuries at the very least. “I am _Alexandre_.”

Felix’s ears folded back.

“You’re - “

“Yes.”

“With the - “

“Yes.”

“That can - “

“Yes.”

“I was expecting more - “ Felix shook his head. “Never mind.” He sighed. “How long do you think this damned rain will continue?”

”Another few decades, I fear. But I will remain with you, if you’d like.”

It was relatively warm, tucked beneath the angel. “I’ll live with it for now.”

  
  
  


According to respected scholars and Evangelical leaders throughout the world, the AntiSothis, Bringer of Beasts, Arbiter of the Apocalypse, He Who Calls the Chained, Destruction’s Devoted Deliverer would be heralded by certain signs. Some believed it would be a sharp increase in the number of violent storms and earthquakes, often in strange patterns like (like that naughty word). Some said it was animals beginning to act strangely like cats following orders and dogs ignoring squirrels and parrots singing disco tunes Some claimed that you’d know due to humanity being horrible in preparation for the Great Purge but well, according to the opinion columns of most daily newspapers humanity had been awful for quite some time.

Only a select few in very specific positions knew the true date. They were sworn to silence, of course, because the second (or third, depending on one’s age) great reckoning was kind of a big deal.

Many thought the AntiSothis would be born in cursed conditions. A chapel burned by fires in the darkness of the midnight hour was a popular choice, as was next to a volcano or in the back of a taxi in the middle of Rush Hour on the busiest day of the busiest year. 

The AntiSothis was, instead, born in a small hospital on the riverside of Gloucester - the good side, of course, not the one full of bars and tourist traps. The animals present didn’t react nearly as much as expected aside from the ducks who were already predisposed to acts of pure evil.

“So - “ Felix started, leaning carefully against the nearest tree. 

“So - “ His companion - _Dimitri,_ apparently - was far less _fluffy_ this time. He looked human enough aside from one black eyepatch that seemed a little excessive to Felix. Normal human beings did not combine eyepatches with threadbare blue cardigans and plain khakis. Felix suspected it was Dimitri being too excessively plain and failing miserably.

“It’s been a while.” Felix kept his gaze on the hospital and in particular the noisy chaos of the maternity ward. Apparently today there were quite a few children being born which probably had more to do with the Gloucester Harvest Festival nine months ago than anything. 

“Oh yes. There have been Arrangements to consider.” Felix could almost hear the capital letter. “I am sure it is the same in your case.”

“I don’t actually go there all that often. All of them are incredibly dull.” Felix snorted derisively. The problem with devils he had learned over the centuries was that they were all fire and brimstone and hellfires and tearing people apart by their fingernails. None of them had any _finesse_ and besides, hellfire got in the way of perfectly acceptable inventions like record players and post-punk and sleek sports cars. Besides, humanity seemed perfectly capable of creating their own worst tortures. In several thousand years not a single demon had created elevator music or airport terminals.

“I’m going to miss it, I think.” Dimitri looked around wistfully. “I am not so fond of the conflict but they are quite charming this time. They haven’t even reached their full potential yet. They are much more engaging than the ducks at least.”

The impulse struck Felix immediately.

It was a terrible idea. There were few laws as fixed as Fate and all. But yet -

And yet - 

“Why does it have to end?”

Dimitri raised an eyebrow. “We can’t interfere with the child.” The AntiSothis, after all, could destroy both angels and demons with a wave of their tiny infant hand.

Felix shrugged. “I’m not saying we _hurt_ him. After all, whatever we do is inevitably fate, don’t you think?”

“So if the child, perhaps, went home with another family, that is, after all, the Will of Sothis.” Dimitri continued.

It was a terribly unangelic thing to say. Felix would have been impressed had he not still been fixated on the cardigan issue.

“And then we let fate take its course.”

“Yes. Of course.”

“So how good are you at impersonating a doctor?” 

Dimitri’s smile sometimes was downright wicked.

For an angel, of course.

The Unholy Union of Umbral Nuns existed for many centuries, waiting for the day their lord and doombringer would ascend and destroy everyone and everything. They often hid in the disguise of quilting groups and piemakers which explains why in any neighborhood there was always at least one woman singularly qualified to make any pie known to humanity. No one ever expected the sweet piemaker.

Harriet Rowe, thirty-third in her lineage, had been born for this moment. She had been placed in this town for one reason and one reason alone.

She was not expecting _that_ particular part of the prophecy but well, Harriet was flexible. All she had to do was to deliver the child to their chosen parents - a particularly nasty politician and his vapid, self-absorbed wife, and her role would be fulfilled. The next Umbral Nun was waiting in the wings of course, all set to be both a doting _au pair_ as well as making sure their Blessed Child of Chaos was all set to bring the world to its scabbed, sullied knees.

Harriet held the (quite adorable) Destroyer in her arms and walked down the hallway towards where all the young children were kept. It was a pity, somewhat, that they would never know the grand feeling of being in the presence of the Master of Mauling and Malfeasance.

“Ah, excuse me?”

Harriet stopped.

A doctor stood at the edge of the small nursery, his hands in his lab coat pockets. He was quite young for a doctor and she did not remember him being in the ward earlier.

He smiled, aiming his blue eyes directly at her and Harriet thought fondly of her favorite (wicked, scandalous) hospital drama and the hunky star who kept dying and coming back depending on the season.

“I believe we still need to check that child’s weight. If you’d please allow me?” He held his hands out and Harriet complied. It would only take a moment, after all. And his eyes were quite blue - why, they almost _shone_.

“Please wait outside and I’ll return.” He bowed his head and turned and Harriet tittered. Not only had she made the most amazing apple fritter last night but she had also witnessed the birth of the Reaper of Reason and even interacted with a stunningly handsome doctor. Today was indeed a blessed day.

“Felix?”

“What is it?” Felix did not like babies. At all. Anything that small and wrinkly and yet full of drool was beyond comprehension. There was no scientific or supernatural explanation for that.

“I must admit I still find human genetics vexing but - “

Felix raised an eyebrow as Dimitri held up the still-sleeping AntiSothis.

“Oh.”

“Yes.”

“Huh.” Felix glanced at the other sleeping children. “Give me one moment.”

Two days later, a young, healthy child was on the road back to the capital to be brought up by rather callous parents and a young _au pair_ named Holly who had come with the highest recommendations and an odd fixation on pies and quilt patterns.

The AntiSothis was asleep in the back of a small sedan headed in the opposite direction towards a very small house tucked neatly in a suburb.

(it was a given, of course, that this small house also had a white picket fence and a tree swing in the backyard.)

  
  
  
  



	2. perfume and records

There was quite a burgeoning industry about the end of the world. Televangelists had made a tidy profit declaring they knew when the end was coming and they would share it with those who signed up for their Home Hell Kit for $99.99 or three easy payments of $33.99 with additional charges as needed. Many a book and film had been made over the years declaring how it would go down and the inevitable theoretical _after_ that somehow always included zombies or souped-up vehicles and the chosen few creating a new world order without sin or irritating neighbors who played their horrible music too loud. Psychics read through tea leaves and spoke to spirits to pin down details and encourage their customers that yes, they should really go ahead and ask Brad (it always seemed to be Brad, or Thomas, or John) out because they may or may not have much time before The End with capital letters.

To most of the demonic and angelic cadre, this was all quite puzzling. The End indicated the well, _end_ , so why would one believe there was an after? Zombies were also a strange invention because brains were terribly unhygienic and fatty and human teeth weren’t that impressive and terrible against human skulls. “The chosen few” was treated with equal befuddlement, as though demons and angels were all that concerned about a human being’s opinion on whether they lived by Psalm Cichol 11.13 or if they agreed more with Maculi 11.7 (the Second Edition with the very important addition of apostrophe).

The AntiSothis was there to, to use a human phrase, _clear_ the air so the divine and the damned could get on with the whole “battle to end all battles” bit. They’d missed the last big go-round due to a scheduling conflict and were determined to make up for lost time. Nemesis would escape his chains and appear in a great fiery ball of destruction, angels and demons would wield their weapons, and it would once and for all settle the issue of which side deserved to do what they wanted for the rest of time. 

Of the many, many theories about The End over the centuries, only one individual was blessed (or cursed, depending) with the foreknowledge to predict the nitty-gritty even down to what the AntiSothis’s first words would be (banana) and what they would wear upon their first baby picture (light blue with matching socks and sneakers with brown puppies on the side).

This individual was known as Great Grand-Auntie Greta Goneril. What was puzzling about this title was that she had it even as a child which made for awkward playtimes Otherwise, she lived an unassuming existence as a seamstress who would, over the weekend, answer advice columns in the Derdriu Digest This column was unpopular due to telling people what they _needed_ to hear instead of what they _wanted_ to hear, but such is the nature of the Entertainment Section, Page 3, Left Column.

Great Grand-Auntie Greta Goneril over her quiet life would write a book full of Apocalyptic prophecies. Unfortunately the handwriting was so terrible and the first chapter so mundane that very few readers actually cared and the editor gave up on even trying to publish it due to gratuitous comma abuse.

The last remaining copy of _The Future of Humanity And Assorted Species Up To And Including Ducks and Felynes According to Great Grand-Auntie Greta_ had been kept as a sort of family heirloom; an item to use during gatherings where the Gonerils needed to have a conversation starter. Few of the family actually read it and even fewer took it seriously because Great Grand-Auntie Greta said very little about the family aside from the odd mention to Never Guess Heads During A Coinflip On Tuesdays.

At that particular moment in time, the book of prophecies, the one that foretold each and every detail of the upcoming The End, was being used to hold one Hilda Goneril’s frappe-mocha with extra creme and just a _little_ splash of peppermint.

Hilda had attempted to read the book at one time but decided after flipping to a random page describing how the Corpse-Eater would Be Undone By the Great Wrath of the Tortoise that it was terribly boring and she had much better things to do like paint her nails.

Thankfully, for both the world and the coffee, one Claude von Riegan chose that particular moment to barge in on her dorm room and fall dramatically into her pink polka-dotted custom computer chair.

“Whatever it is, the answer’s no.” Hilda didn’t look up from where she was putting one last layer of acrylic over her nails.

“I seem to remember _you_ being the last one to ask for a favor. Something about begging our dear professor for another week to finish your essay?” Claude countered.

“That wasn’t a favor! It was a _request_.” Hilda sat up and rolled her eyes. “It’s different, obviously.”

“Obviously.” Claude raised an eyebrow as he noticed the huge stack of books that Hilda had carefully constructed in some semblance of a table. “You know you’re supposed to take those _back_ to the library, right?”

“I’ll get to it eventually.” Hilda shrugged. “One of the librarians kind of reminds me of a statue.”

“Hilda, Hilda, when will you ever learn to take the initiative?” Claude clicked his tongue. “All that intelligence and you use it to con people with perfume and bad fortune telling.”

Hilda smiled with just a little too much teeth. “Number one, my perfume is _incredibly_ lucrative and I’ve already trademarked a few recipes to sell using small regional distributors and secondly, it’s not about fortune telling. It’s about giving people a morale boost when they need it.”

“If you say so.” Claude sat up and stretched. “Anyway, I’m here to remind me we do have some historical mysteries to investigate and I do believe it’s your turn to drive.”

“Oh right, that.” Hilda grinned. “Wanna flip for it? If you win, we’ll go exactly where you want this time. If I win, well,” she glanced thoughtfully at the stack she’d acquired over the semester. “If I win, you take those back for me.”

It was a Tuesday.

And thus, one Claude von Riegan stood at the front of the library carrying a duffel bag of assorted and sundry titles. Conveniently, the librarian appeared with a huge rolling cart, almost like he’d known he’d need it

Hilda was right.

He did look sort of like a statue.

Aside from the eyepatch and hand-knit sweater, of course.

“Have I seen you before?”

“I’m sorry?” The librarian blinked his one good eye and carefully moved a strand of hair away from his face. “Perhaps? I have been working here for quite some time.”

“Right, well, here you go.” Claude hefted the duffel bag onto the cart. “Next time a girl with pink pigtails comes in here, save yourself some grief and don’t let her walk away with anything, all right?”

“Oh. Yes.” The librarian tilted his head curiously as he ran his thumb over the titles. “This is not mine though.” He pulled out a small black, very old-looking book with several coffee stains on the cover. “You may have it back.”

That night, Claude flipped to a random page.

_And thus, the young, and very, clever Clawed saved this work, The Future of Humanity And Assorted Species Up To And Including Ducks and Felynes According to Great Grand-Auntie Greta, mine greatest work, and lost two of his socks in the magick, drying boxe._

_He, Clawed, did not realize how he and my sweet ancestor, were going to see the ascension of the (naughty word), bringer of The Ende, before they descend, into the Darknesse._

(Claude, initially, only understood half of it. After all, Great Grand-Auntie Greta was not known for her beautiful handwriting.)

  


Radio stations existed in the strange space of _nowhere_ that were tucked in to each and every corner of the world. Everyone could hear a radio show but how often did one actually see the station itself? How did one even recognize a DJ in their day-to-day life?

This made radio stations highly attractive to certain individuals who didn’t exactly fit in with normal nine-to-five society. Insomniacs, for one. Truck drivers for another. And the third option which was decidedly inhuman.

Felix had, for the past several decades or so, found himself comfortably inside an old radio station building that he’d taken great pains to repurpose and decorate with whatever whims suited him. The walls were lined with records and weapons and old knicknacks he’d collected during his existence, the surfaces mostly bare save for the multitude of cats that came and went whenever they pleased 

It was common, of course, for demons to have familiars to do their wicked bidding. These cats, however, were completely normal if not a little overweight and prone to murder sprees whenever any other wild animal thought the radio station looked hospitable. Even birds had decided that it was just better off to build their nests several buildings down than risk the wrath of the Felix Felines.

From roughly 11PM to 5AM every night a certain radio program would broadcast on a certain frequency and then magically disappear again. This was especially odd as no one claimed ownership of the station and there was never a single commercial. 

Tonight, Felix was indulging in an old record he’d found when tempting a couple into sneaking into a movie theater. That in itself was fairly mild but said couple were inspired to make the worst, most painful movie known to man. The best part was that film students were forced to watch the heinous mess in many high schools and colleges all over the place.

He was mostly through _Lost in the Grocery Store_ when his station crackled and the telephone rang in the background.

Felix knew he had fans. It was how he met Annette after all. But this particular ring held a particular ominous rattle to it that made Felix’s teeth clench.

“You’re on the air. What do you want?” He stared at one of his red cats as it began licking its paws.

_helLO_

Flickers of flames started to rise around Felix's shoulders before he composed himself. And his evening had been going so well.

 _iS thIs FeLIC_ \- the voice continued in a waspy hiss.

“What request do you want?” Felix interrupted, thinking of how pleasant it would be to shove a sword right through the receiver.

 _wE haVE a NEw aSSIGNmenT foR yOu_ , the voice continued, clearly unsure of how to make its voice sound the least bit normal. _yOu A - waIT wHy DO wE heAR ourSELveS?_

Felix didn’t exactly like angels. They were all self-righteous and fluffy and fixated on the most inane things like _protocols_ and _manners_ and _appropriate channels_. But demons - the old ones, not the moronic new variety that kept popping up like yappy Yorkies - were utterly boorish. They thought in terms of old vices and old conflicts and saw technology as something unfamiliar and uninteresting.

_It is TImE for tHE plAn to be ExeCUTed. YoU muST prePArE theE DEsTRoyer foR HiS AscendANCe._

Felix pinched the bridge of his nose. 

_alSO we WisH to HeAR thaT oNE aBouT tHE DaNCiNg DUcHEss._

That was the other problem.

Demons had hideously awful taste in music.

“I’m leaving.” Felix announced as he grabbed his favorite black coat with the furred hood.

His cats all stared at him with varying levels of interest.

“You know where the food is. Don’t be pains for Annette.”

Felix, over the many centuries, had found a perfectly acceptable way to resolve any problem he had.

He simply made it Dimitri’s problem as well.

  
  


Libraries were yet another area that existed in the spaces between. No one but librarians ever saw the backrooms, the offices, where the old books that were too threadbare to read ended up. This meant libraries were uniquely qualified to bridge between locations with no one ever noticing or caring if the book they returned ended up on the shelf of another library at the opposite end of the country.

Dimitri was not always interested in reading the treasure trove he’d acquired over the years. He certainly enjoyed human stories the same way one enjoyed seeing what a child could paint on the wall but the truth was he preferred to keep as low a profile as possible. No one thought about librarians all that much and no one thought them _interesting_ besides the occasional young college student that looked at Dimitri for far too long and asked him if he was single.

The answer, Dimitri had learned over the decades, was “It’s complicated.”

The sweaters certainly helped.

His main living space was a small cabin overlooking a wintry lake and lots and lots of trees. Dimitri enjoyed watching the wildlife come and go and occasionally he’d even stretch his wings, as it were. All he had to do to get where he needed to go was turn his bathroom doorknob a certain way and he could casually traverse any library backroom he pleased.

Dimitri was busy sweeping some pine needles off his front porch when he heard that particular door groan. He waited until he heard a string of very unpleasant curses to set his broom aside and walk back in.

“Good afternoon Felix.” Dimitri smiled pleasantly.

“Were the runes _really_ necessary?” Felix glowered and shook some of the crackling magic off of his jacket. 

“For anyone but you, yes.” Dimitri closed the door behind his companion and locked it tight “How are the cats?”

“They’re cats.” Felix settled into one of Dimitri’s overly-plush chairs and glanced around, as though searching for something out of place. “So - “

“So?”

“I - “

The whole room shuddered.

Felix cursed again. Dimitri grabbed onto his wrist and tugged him forward, just as the house was infused with bright, blinding light.

 **HELLO ALEXANDRE.** A voice boomed brightly from the door.

Dimitri hastily wrapped a scarf around his throat.

 **I HEARD SOMETHING PROFANE. IS EVERYTHING QUITE WELL?** Slowly, the light died down and revealed a thick man in white armor.

“Oh yes. Quite well.” Dimitri picked up his broom and set it on the inside of the house. “Good afternoon Alois.”

 **YES. IT IS AFTERNOON. YOU COULD SAY IT IS AFTER MANY NOONS.** Even in this form, Alois had not quite learned how to speak with the Human Voice. **YOUR SERVICE IS REQUESTED.**

Dimitri tilted his head. “I didn’t think it was time yet for - “

 **NOT THAT.** Alois stopped and peeked behind Dimitri into his living room. **ARE YOU SURE THINGS ARE WELL? IT SMELLS…. SMOKY.**

“I did try to read an old tome of the original Cichol transmutation theory. It… was met with mixed results.” Dimitri bowed his head sheepishly.

 **YES. IT CAN HAVE THAT EFFECT. YOU COULD SAY THAT CICHOL WAS VERY FIRED UP ABOUT PROTECTIVE WARDS.** Alois waited a beat and then made an imitation of clearing his throat. **IT IS TIME. THE YOU KNOW WHO IS ABOUT TO TURN SIXTEEN. YOU ARE TASKED WITH CONFIRMING THAT THINGS ARE GOING ACCORDING TO PLAN.**

“Of course.” Dimitri half-bowed. “It would be the greatest of honors.” He reached up, carefully adjusting his scarf. 

**YES. WELL. YOU ARE REQUIRED, AS WE BOTH KNOW.** Alois hesitated. **IF YOU SUCCESSFULLY MANAGE THE TRANSMUTATION, DO LET ME KNOW.**

“I’ll be happy to. Ah, if you’ll excuse me.” Dimitri stood straight and clasped his hands behind his back. “I should take care of that smell now.”

 **YES.** Alois stood, waiting.

“Goodbye, Alois.”

**GOODBYE.**

Alois was, admittedly, one of the more companionable angels. He was also, Dimitri had learned, not one to take action of his own volition.

“You may leave now.” Dimitri gestured to the door. “Before anyone comes to investigate the light.”

 **YES. HUMANS DO NOT LIKE TO BE STARTLED.** Alois bowed gracefully. **FOR THE GLORY OF SOTHIS.**

And then, blessedly, he was gone.

Dimitri counted down from two hundred. Slowly, the birds began to chirp again. 

“I can’t believe you’re lying. When did you start to lie?” A very annoyed voice hissed from his throat. “You’re not allowed to lie.”

“Yes, well.” Dimitri reached up and began unwinding the large scarf to reveal one very angry, agitated snake. “I did not think it would upset you so.”

The snake started slipping from Dimitri's neck and dropped to the ground. With a faint hiss of air Felix stood up and began adjusting his clothes. “ _You_ upset me.” Felix crossed his arms. “Well?”

Dimitri blinked.

“What do we do? About the whole - “ Felix glanced towards the world outside. 

“We… attempt to reach the real one without being noticed?” Dimitri ventured slowly. “We do know where they are, after all.”

Felix stared.

"It should not be hard. We know where they are." Check on the AntiSothis, confirm they were safe and Fate was moving as Fate willed it, and then find a way to not come to blows. Dimitri very much did not like fighting.

"Right. Obviously." Felix kept staring away from him, as though he was uneasy. Felix was not one to be uncertain.

“We do _know_ where they are, don’t we?”

“About that…” Felix hesitated, “Don’t they all look the same to you? When they’re little and,” Felix’s nose scrunched up in distaste, “wrinkly?”

“Felix,” Dimitri said with an ever-increasing feeling of dread, “are you telling me we misplaced the AntiSothis?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lost in the Supermarket - The Clash  
> Dancing Queen - ABBA
> 
> Felix does not want to talk about the demonic fixation on disco music. The fourth circle of Hell is rife with it.


	3. gyms and paintings

Demons and angels did not get along. This was a universal truth like gravity or always finding exactly $1.62 in loose change beneath any random set of couch cushions. From an angelic perspective, demons were traitors - those who had disavowed Sothis and indulged in sinful practices like pleasure and alcohol and line dancing. To demons, angels were puritanical tyrants of the particular nature to play Monopoly until the very end and make it as dull and bureaucratic as possible.. In fact, the last attempt at Monopoly lasted exactly three-hundred twenty-seven years, fifteen days, two hours, twenty-two minutes, and eleven seconds. The only reason the game ended at all was due to a debate on the syntax on a _Chance_ card and thus, the entire thing rendered moot.

It wasn’t that Felix _cared_ about Dimitri. Dimitri was an angel and one whose true nature was constantly buried beneath wool and politeness and something resembling a moral compass that meant he cared about little old ladies and lost orphans and sad kittens on motivational posters.

But over the centuries, Felix had developed a certain _acceptance_ of him that was best left undefined. Dimitri had been present when Felix went a little overboard taunting a very wound-up volcano spirit. Dimitri had been present when they’d both been stuck in the awkward position of a spat between Olympian gods. Dimitri had been present to keep Felix company during ill-fated human wars and had conveniently been around that one time when some priest with a feather-tipped cap attempted to “exorcise” Felix after Felix had placed an impressive curse on their whole town for chasing off a three-legged cat.

The point of this being that Dimitri was an exception.

And that made the entire thing more awkward.

“Wasn’t that what we were trying to do? Lose the AntiSothis?” It had made perfect sense at the time. Not deviate from _The Plan_ so much as roll the dice just a little bit and let Sothis sort the whole thing out.

“We should have at least known where they were going!” The air around Dimitri had taken on a certain icy chill that made Felix tug his hood tighter around him. “What if they’re hurt? Or dead? Or - “

“Then the whole thing can be called off.” Felix rolled his eyes. “Don’t tell me you’re feeling _bad_ about this.”

“I - “ Dimtiri sighed and rested his fingers against his temple. “We need to locate them. Before any of our brethren realize and decide to intervene. Or - before we are _addressed_ for our indiscretion.” Something in his voice had an extra edge. “I do not believe it would go well.”

Demons weren’t exactly all that inventive. They liked fire and pain and forcing one to hang upside down over pits of ice set to Absolute Zero.

But angels - 

Angels didn’t torture. They did _worse_.

“I’ll go to the hospital and try to find a trail. And you - do whatever. Just be careful about it.” Dimitri was never careful. He’d been caught with his wings out at least three times by three different starving artists which had led to two different very famous statues of “The Unknown Angel” and one very over-the-top rock album cover.

In Felix’s defense, someone seeing his demonic form tended to result in a life of madness, monastery work, or B-grade monster movies.

“I’ll search for information as I can. Please do be careful Felix. I suspect a lot of our brethren will be appearing. You don’t want to - “

“That happened _once_.” Felix tilted his chin, daring Dimitri to continue. “And I covered my tracks.”

“By burning down an entire temple.”

“It deserved it for being tacky.” Felix prowled to the door and adjusted the lock. “Watch after your own skin.”

Felix didn’t want to go through the bother of losing a resource. That was all.

Claude was an interesting guy. He was sociable but somehow always found ways to talk about everything but himself. He flirted but Hilda had yet to see him show actual attraction towards another human being. He enjoyed digging through old mysteries and collected knick knacks and books that were best described as _esoteric_. The first time they’d met, Claude had come for a palm reading and asked all sorts of questions and Hilda had very bluntly told him he needed more hand lotion and to take better care of his cuticles. 

And then they kept running into one another, somehow fought in the same fistfight, found out they were in the same classes, and had become fast friends. It helped that Claude was incredibly gifted with doing research and Hilda could - eventually - piece together a perfectly passable essay. They made a good team.

What Claude wasn’t, in Hilda’s experience, was the type to hole up in his dorm room for more than two days. 

And Hilda, being the good friend that she was, had excused herself from her very strenuous study group to make sure Claude was still breathing.

The door was locked.

Hilda did what she always did when presented with locked doors. She slammed her fist into a very certain spot and waited.

Obediently, the lock clicked and the door swung open with a pitiful whine.

“Eugh.” Hilda stepped inside and wished she hadn’t. “It smells like three day old pizza in here.”

“It’s only two day old pizza, and it’s in the mini fridge if you want it.” Claude was sitting in his oversized golden bean bag surrounded by what could only be called a _disaster_. Papers were spread out everywhere along with a thick dictionary, some dog-eared journal and - 

“Wait, is that Gran-Greta’s old book?” Hilda peered closer to see the all-too familiar handwriting and yellowed pages. “I wondered where that went.”

“Hilda, have you ever read this?” Claude glanced up and it was the first time Hilda thought he looked genuinely troubled.

“No. It’s sort of impossible between the handwriting and the commas.” She shrugged. “It’s really old too.”

“How old?” Claude went back to flipping through the pages.

“About two hundred years? I think?” Hilda stood up and stretched. “It just keeps getting passed along.”

Claude went very still.

“What?”

“Hilda, I think the world’s about to end.” Claude’s voice was deadly serious.

“Right. Sure. Maybe it’s time for you to get some fresh air?” Claude liked weird conspiracy theories but even he had to have limits. “Once we get past our exams everything will be fine.”

“Hilda, if the world ends, we won’t even _get_ to take our exams. We won’t even have a classroom to take them in.”

Hilda sighed. “Claude, come on…”

“Weird, I know. But here - “ Claude held up the journal and tapped at a page, “It says ‘Clawed and mine adorable ancestor took mine work to the one eyed librarian who will pierce the sky with his spear.’”

“Aww, she called me adorable.” Okay so maybe it was a little weird to see Claude’s name there, kind of, but still. Gran-Greta didn’t actually know what she was talking about. Fortune-telling was a hobby, not an actual ability.

“So - we’re going to save the world.” Claude slammed the book closed and stood up. “Right?”

“You’re actually serious now, aren’t you?” Claude had a certain way he looked when he was _serious_. His bottom lip curved downwards and his jaw clenched just a little bit.

“More than I’ve ever been in my life.”

Claude had led Hilda on all sorts of “adventures.” They’d attended Lorenz’s Rose Gala for the short time it happened until it was shut down for a ladybug infestation. She’d rolled her eyes and gone along as Claude spent all of one long, torturous afternoon examining a statue of a Saint for some hidden lever or etched-in clue and the only reason they’d finally given up was a young nun who kept talking to them about a pescatarian diet. She’d even, very patiently, watched his long and very involved presentation on why Saint Seiros was really some kind of dragon and the reason she was shown as a warrior was historical revisionism. 

She could humor him for now.

“Well if we have to, but you’re doing my homework for the entirety of next semester.”

Claude gathered his papers together and tucked them neatly into his bag. He tugged the bag over his shoulder and stood up, quickly adjusting his shirt so he looked vaguely presentable.

“Let’s hope we _have_ a next semester.” He sucked in a breath and went to the door. “So, want to go see a one-eyed librarian?”

Learstown was a small little suburb tucked away at the edge of the northern mountain range. It was, by all accounts, idyllic and perfect for a family to raise their children without the fuss of a big city. The closest thing to Learstown was an old army base in the mountains that most everyone ignored and pretended didn’t exist.

Learstown’s citizens liked to call it _quaint_ and indeed it was. Only in Learstown did it always manage to snow for a whole week right around Sothismas. Only in Learstown did the roosters crow right as the sun rose (the roosters were quite content for the extra few minutes of sleep, if one were to ask them their opinion). Only in Learstown did pancakes come out perfectly circular and bacon charmingly crisp each and every time Sunday breakfast came about.

On this particular day, in this particular corner of the world, three teenagers were huddled together in their secret hideaway spot in the woods. Over the years, the spot had served as a secret base, then a place to whisper awkward stories, and now it was simply a place to decompress from the stress of high school and theorize about the future.

The three had always been quite close as they all, coincidentally, shared the same birthday. They also were all, in their own ways, misfits and had spent each and every school year supporting one another through bullies, bad teachers, and bus rides.

Raphael was the biggest of the three. He dreamed one day of becoming the strongest man alive and liked to try and pick up logs whenever he found one. Raphael had never met a piece of meat he didn’t like nor a bully he didn’t simply _loom_ into leaving their group alone.

Ignatz was the smallest. He was quiet and a little bookish and devoted himself to artt ever since he first decorated his parent’s living room walls with palm trees and stick-figure mermaids. Ignatz spent most of his time hiding behind Raphael or sketching whatever interested him at the moment.

And the third was Marianne. Marianne was quiet and terribly shy and rarely spoke to anyone aside from her two friends. She always hid herself beneath large sweaters and baggy clothes and had a tendency to voice her frustrations to her dog, appropriately named Fluffy.

(Fluffy was quite old,it must be said.)

“Gosh - sixteen. That means we can start driving, right?” Raphael was going through his daily exercises by lifting a very large rock he’d found at the edge of the riverbed. 

“There aren’t many places to drive here.” Ignatz rubbed at his glasses. It was almost time - just a little longer and the sun would set, casting everything in pinks and oranges. He’d seen it enough times to have a Learstown afternoon seared into his brain but somehow, somehow, it always took his breath away. The scenery in Learstown always lent itself perfectly to inspirational paintings.

“So we just go see what else is in the world. Oh! Maybe we can check out that museum? The one an hour away?” Raphael grinned. “Hey, Marianne, do you still want to see that statue?”

“I’m sure it’s quite nice, even without a head.” Marianne picked at a group of white flowers near her feet. Marianne didn’t really like going out to new places but she did like her friends being happy.

“The wings are supposed to be really detailed. Oh, and we can check out that gym too!” Raphael grinned. “Maybe I can even get a part time job!”

“Just remember not to break anything. You’re already strong enough.” Really, Raphael’s strength was - well, rather inhuman. Ignatz had never seen anyone try to lift a cow before.

“Trust me.” Raphael grinned. “On our birthday, everything’s gonna change.”

If at all possible, Felix preferred to drive to his destination. He _could_ travel in the spaces between but experience had taught him that he was just as likely to be a pain in his forked tail as a convenience. A demon could be trying to go to the capital of Almyra and end up being summoned by some moronic teenager who wanted to sell their soul to become a rock legend or worse, get challenged to a fiddle contest or something even more ridiculous.

This was absurd for many reasons including that demons didn’t understand what really made rock music _rock_ and were just as likely to twist the deal into making the poor teenager into some hipster only known for disco or smooth jazz. Secondly, Felix had never met a single demon that could play a fiddle without it sounding like a dying moose.

Besides, Felix liked driving. He owned a dark teal classic Jaguar with a removable top, leather seats, and custom hubcaps. Felix simply called it “the car” because as far as he was concerned there were no other vehicles that deserved to exist. With only the slightest of adjustments, his Jaguar had survived an earthquake (not his fault), a mudslide (also not his fault), and a race down the infamous I-99 all the way through a sixteen-car pileup (possibly his fault but irrelevant because the other driver deserved to have his pathetic excuse for a sports car crushed).

Traffic was never an issue when Felix drove his Jaguar. Lights always turned green just as his Jaguar rolled up. Dimitri, after decades of eyeing vehicles as though they were some kind of complex death trap, had even learned to appreciate an occasional night ride on an empty road.

Felix had settled into his seat, adjusted his mirrors, and flicked on his sunglasses and - 

“Hello Felicis.”

Felix’s hand tightened around his wheel. “I don’t remember inviting you in _my_ car.”

Hresvelg was an old demon. Old enough to look like worn paper and old enough to have at least some level of intelligence. He spent most of his time skulking around in Hell pretending to be a big deal and listening to the screams of the damned as they were forced to have their ankles nibbled on by turtles. It was so _trite_.

Hresvelg smiled, revealing yellowed teeth. “I heard you were chosen to see the ascension of the Great Destroyer.”

“It’s a teenage birthday party.” Felix couldn’t knife him - not here. He’d leave _marks_ and Felix just had the car detailed. “Not anything you’d be interested in.”

“Oh no. We’re all quite interested. I’m sure you could tolerate a companion or two?”

Or _two_?

“Hello Felicis.” An irritatingly coy voice cooed from the back seat. Felix could feel his hackles rise as he looked in the back mirror to see Cornelia draping all over his clean leather.

Great. Not only an irritating fossil of a demon but a succubus as well. The only thing worse than an old demon with delusions of grandeur was a young succubus with delusions of self-importance and glitter.

Glitter. On his clean leather seats.

Felix settled himself before he could start to smoke. He was fine. He could navigate this.

“If you’re so dead-set on going, why don’t you do it _for_ me?”

“And deviate from The Plan? Naughty naughty.” Cornelia wagged her finger. “As you said, it’s just a teenage birthday party.”

Felix started the car.

“If you mess with my seats, I will end you.”

“Let’s get going, shall we? To the AntiSothis.” Hresvelg cracked.

“To the AntiSothis.” Cornelia echoed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you ever need to know what happened to the Lost City of Atlantis, its mayor made the mistake of calling Felix by his angelic name and insulting his taste in weaponry. Luckily, Dimitri talked Felix down to only destroying the city part and the Atlanteans lived the rest of their days out on a tropical island with plenty of bananas. Unfortunately, the secret to the most delicious banana bread to ever exist was lost to the ages.

**Author's Note:**

> I am going to try my DARNDEST to finish this but it might take me a while as i am juggling this + Dimilix Week prompts but this one came about because I was thinking of crossovers o - yeah.
> 
> Also I fully admit to throwing Judeo-Christian theology out of the window here for the lols. The first part is Dimitri and Felix watching the end of Ragnarok (which did indeed lead to a decades-long party but Felix found everyone obnoxious so he refused to attend.)
> 
> (the naughty word) - AntiSothis. ASS.


End file.
